


The Mirror

by ryttu3k



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: Affection, Body Image, Fluff and Smut, Intimacy, Love, M/M, Mirrors, Reflection, Sexual Content, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 11:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2346347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryttu3k/pseuds/ryttu3k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Augustine cannot quite understand why someone like Lysandre is with someone like, well, him. Lysandre decides to show him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mirror

"Do you want to tell me what's got you in such a bad mood?"

Augustine does not look up immediately, head bowed and focused on unbuckling his shoes, caught off guard by the concern in Lysandre's voice. "I'm not in a bad mood," he says softly, kicking the restrictive shiny shoes off and tossing them in a corner to be put away properly later. Right now, he can't find the energy to care.

Lysandre sighs, easing his own shoes off. "You're a terrible liar," he murmurs as he settles back on the bed. "I was watching you at the party - you barely talked to anyone. It's..." He hesitates, then continues, "It's not like you."

Augustine's hands are shaking as he unbuttons the jacket, still not looking up, still letting his hair fall over his face. "It's stupid." And then he shakes his head in frustration, biting his lip - saying that only confirms Lysandre's concerns, tell him pretty obviously that, yes, something is bugging him.

But he can't bring himself to say it. It really does sound ridiculous, even to himself.

And yet...

"Why do you stay with me?" he bursts out, and Lysandre raises his head to stare at him, astonished. "At the party - it was - everyone there, they're the pick of Kalosian society, and everyone is rich and powerful and beautiful and you're a part of that world and - and you were there with _me_." He glares down at his feet as if they've done him a grave injustice. "And I don't understand _why_."

"What do you mean?" Lysandre asks him, and although his voice is mostly calm, Augustine can hear the catch in it.

He exhales roughly, struggling with the last button. "You could have had anyone there," he admits. "Your pick of anyone in Kalos - there'd be beautiful men and women lining up to be with you - and - you're with me. Why?"

There are hands sweeping into his field of vision, Lysandre carefully unbuttoning the last button and sliding the jacket from his shoulders. "Because I love you," he says simply, and Augustine feels his breath catch in his throat. "Augustine, I'm with you because I love you. You know that, don't you?"

Augustine nods once, but it's half-hearted. "I know. I just -" He doesn't meet Lysandre's eye as he admits, "I'm not sure why, sometimes. I mean - I'm clumsy and awkward and a workaholic and - and you love beautiful things, and I don't know why you'd want to be with me when there are so many beautiful people who would be willing..."

Lysandre is silent for a long moment, and then he pulls Augustine into his arms, burying his face in his hair. "But you're beautiful," he whispers, and Augustine stills.

"I'm not, really," he says quietly, and lets a sad smile quirk his lips. "But thank you for saying so."

Drawing back, Lysandre bits his lip, then collects the blanket from the bed. "I have an idea," he informs Augustine, taking his hand in the one not holding the blanket, leading him into the dressing room (and here's another area where Augustine simply cannot compare; a researcher's salary, even for a regional professor, will never even come remotely close to being able to afford the kind of places with dressing rooms), releasing his hand and spreading the blanket before one of the full-length mirrors. He sits cross-legged, and then rests a hand on his knee expectantly. "Come here."

Uncertainly, Augustine crosses the distance, hovering expectantly.

"You'll need to get a bit closer than that," Lysandre teases, catching his hand again and tugging him downwards.

Augustine gives him a bemused look, his insecurity temporarily forgotten at Lysandre's odd behaviour. "Like this?" he says with a raised eyebrow, and drops himself in Lysandre's lap.

"Exactly." There's a faint smirk on Lysandre's face as he nudges him, and Augustine shifts obligingly, letting his eyes fall shut and soaking in the heat from Lysandre's chest against his back. "Open your eyes."

He does so, finding his gaze skitter away from his reflection - they're unnervingly close to the mirror, and he can see himself nestled against Lysandre, a tangle of gangly limbs against the cool fire that is his lover's body.

"What do you see?" Lysandre murmurs into his hair, his arms winding securely around Augustine's middle.

"Ah, me sitting on your lap?"

Lysandre lets out a short laugh; he can feel the huff of breath against the back of his ear. "No, I mean - what do you see when you look at yourself?"

Augustine lets the air out of his lungs slowly, reluctantly meeting his gaze in the mirror. "Too skinny," he starts quietly, "I'm all - elbows and knees. My hair is a mess. There's bags under my eyes and my eyebrows look like wild Caterpies. Big nose. My nails are bitten. Too scruffy, I can't grow a proper beard." He pulls a face at his reflection, and the man in the mirror pulls one back at him. Over the top of his head, he can see Lysandre's brows furrow. "Lysandre, what's all this about?"

There's no verbal answer, not immediately - instead, a kiss is pressed against the nape of his neck and he shivers instinctively, watching in some fascination as the flush crosses his face and fades again. "I want you to see yourself," Lysandre finally admits, "The way I see you. Will you let me show you?"

Lysandre's eyes are a cool, sad blue. Augustine meets them in the mirror, his own the mundane and dreary grey of an overcast day, and nods wordlessly.

He does not know what Lysandre wants to show him, but really, it can't hurt to at least see where all this is going.

"Good," Lysandre murmurs, mouth pressed against the back of his neck, and reaches for the top button of Augustine's shirt. "Now, watch."

Augustine is silent as Lysandre undresses him, watching the mirror uncertainly as fabric gives way to bare skin, shifting in his lap when Lysandre slides his pants down narrow hips. The socks go next, the underwear last, and he's left to contemplate his nude reflection as Lysandre undresses as well, somehow managing to divest himself of his clothing without Augustine ever leaving his lap.

"Let me show you," Lysandre whispers, and it's as intimate as a kiss, "Let me show you." And then he does kiss him, lingering for just a moment before his lips drop a trail of kisses across his jawline, down his throat. "Watch," he murmurs against Augustine's throat, punctuating his words with the faintest scrape of teeth, and Augustine opens his eyes without having ever realised he had closed them.

It's bordering on the uncomfortable, seated before the mirror and watching Lysandre lavish attention on him, and more than once he averts his gaze or closes his eyes as Lysandre licks and sucks a mark to bloom into life on his throat or collarbones, or to glide his hands over ribs and hips and thighs. Each time, Lysandre patiently murmurs, "Watch," and Augustine opens his eyes obediently, forcing himself to observe the obvious affection in Lysandre's actions, caught between the discomfort of watching himself in the mirror and the pleasure wrought by his touches.

Eventually, Lysandre draws away with a sigh, wrapping his arms in a purely comforting gesture around Augustine's middle. "If this really does bother you, we can stop," he tells him, dropping a chaste kiss against the back of his neck. "Or we can keep going in the bedroom - I want to show you how I see you, but you don't seem to be enjoying this much."

Augustine bites his lip, his reflection looking both unhappy and aroused. He's still not totally sure where this is going, is caught between physical pleasure and discomfort, but Lysandre has been so patient with him. The least he can do is be patient in return, to see precisely what it is that Lysandre finds worthy.

"No, we can keep going," he says softly. "It's just - kind of strange watching yourself, no?"

"It is." Briefly, Lysandre nuzzles the back of his neck. "Still, it's not that bad, is it?"

"No, it's not," he admits, and settles back in Lysandre's arms.

Lysandre smiles, meeting his eyes in the mirror, the corners of his own crinkling up in obvious affection. "You're beautiful," he breathes, "My beautiful Augustine." His hands part, tracing the lines of his hips, and then one finally, finally dips between his legs.

A low moan tumbles from Augustine's lips, his eyes falling shut for a brief moment before he remembers to open them again, to watch. Lysandre meets his gaze in the mirror, a smile quirking his lips at the lapse in attention, and strokes, his touches feather-light and teasing.

"Are you enjoying that?"

Augustine gives him a pointed look in the mirror, noting his own flushed cheeks, his trembling hands, the way his hips jerk into Lysandre's touch. "What do you think?" he asks dryly, although he can't quite hide back a smile.

Lysandre chuckles, pressing more kisses against his neck. "I think you're enjoying that."

He answers wordlessly, a soft, "Mm-hmm," fighting against the urge to shut his eyes and let Lysandre's touch become his world. He watches Lysandre in the mirror, watches Lysandre touching him, pleasuring him, and he can start to see the appeal of this - every nerve is alight, his body responding even before Lysandre touches him, the movements clear and the anticipation heightening every sensation.

All too soon, Lysandre stops, and Augustine lets out a moue of disappointment. "Lie down," Lysandre murmurs instead, shifting him off his lap and stealing a kiss as he does so, "And keep watching."

Intrigued, he extracts himself from Lysandre's lap, his legs trembling as he stretches out on the blanket, turning his head to watch the mirror. His mirror-self looks almost languid, the line of his ribs and hips and legs fluid and long, his reflection's eyes stormy grey and dark with pleasure. Lysandre watches him watching his reflection, meets his gaze in the mirror, and Augustine can see him reach out to set one hand on his shoulder, to take his hand. His eyes close as he accepts the kiss pressed against his mouth.

"Beautiful," Lysandre sighs as he draws away, squeezing his hand as Augustine opens his eyes again. "You're beautiful." And with Lysandre's sincerity, the honesty in those blue eyes, Augustine can almost believe it.

And so, Lysandre begins to show him.

He kisses and licks, nips and bites. He scrapes his teeth over sensitive skin and then follows it up with a kiss, his fingers stroke and smooth. No square inch of skin is left untouched by his lips and tongue and fingers; he arches over Augustine's body to lavish attention on his collarbones, running his fingers through Augustine's hair like it's the finest silk, he crouches at his feet to leave a trail of fiery kisses along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, he meets Augustine's eyes in the mirror and does not look away as he licks his lips and lowers his head between Augustine's legs, and oh, Augustine can definitely feel the way Lysandre's lips curve in a smile to the best of their ability with his mouth occupied like that, smiling at the way Augustine gasps and shudders and drives his fingers into Lysandre's hair and jerks his hips upwards and does not look away from the mirror for a second.

Because he can see it, he can almost see it, see the love and attention that Lysandre lavishes upon him, and he's still not entirely sure why, still can't rationalise in his mind why Lysandre chose him, but he can see the tangible proof of the feelings Lysandre has and what they mean. He sees it in the tenderness of his touch, the way all of that passion and intensity is focused solely on him, in the way he consumes Lysandre's entire attention.

All too soon, Lysandre draws away, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "Were you enjoying that?" he asks again, meeting Augustine's eyes in the mirror. "No, never mind, I'm pretty sure you were." He traces with his fingers the path his tongue had just taken, and Augustine fights back an impatient whimper, arching into his touch.

"Lysandre, _please_..."

"Just a moment, don't go anywhere," Lysandre murmurs, pressing another kiss against his lips and rising from the blanket, hurrying back to the bedroom and leaving Augustine on his own.

Honestly, he's really not going to be going anywhere. If nothing else, he's not sure his legs can support him right now.

It's probably not a bad thing. At least he'll have time to get his breath back, to try to cool the fire beneath his skin that Lysandre has lit. He closes his eyes, lets darkness slide like a shroud over the image of his reflection come undone, exposed and sprawling on the blanket, his hair mussed and cheeks flushed, his mouth swollen and the bruises and bite marks Lysandre left on his throat and collarbones and shoulders and hips tingling against his skin, and tries to think in words that are a little more coherent than, "Nngh."

It's surprisingly difficult, trying to think against the haze of pleasure and arousal that Lysandre has left him in.

"I'm back," Lysandre murmurs suddenly, and he opens his eyes to find him kneeling between Augustine's legs, a bottle of lubricant in his hand. "We probably should have got this _before_ we actually got started..."

Augustine manages a breathless laugh.

"Please," he whispers, hooking one leg around Lysandre's hips.

Lysandre nods feverishly. "Watch," he whispers back, and Augustine obediently turns to face the mirror again, biting his lip in sheer anticipation as he watches Lysandre coat his fingers in the lubricant. "Ready?"

" _Yes_!"

Chuckling, Lysandre leans over, nipping at his throat and sliding the first finger in. Augustine whimpers faintly as he adds a second and then a third, desperately craving stimulation and penetration, fighting to keep his hips still and to keep from riding Lysandre's fingers, staring at the way his reflection's thighs tremble, at the way the muscles of Lysandre's arms flex smoothly under his skin as he prepares him.

"Ready?" Lysandre murmurs again as he withdraws his fingers, this time anointing himself with the lubricant, and this time all Augustine can do is let out a whimper, nodding frantically.

Lysandre meets that whimper with a moan of his own as he finally joins with him, sinking in, holding the position for a moment to let Augustine adjust, their eyes meeting in the mirror, both hazy and dark with lust. The moment breaks; Lysandre draws himself back and then pushes in again, and Augustine has to squeeze his eyes shut - the sensation, the sight of Lysandre inside him, the lines and angles of their joined bodies, the naked pleasure on his lover's face is almost too much to cope with.

Even now, Lysandre cannot seem to stop touching him - raking his nails across Augustine's hip, splaying a hand across his chest, digging his fingers through his hair. He dips his tongue into the hollow of Augustine's throat, bites down on his collarbones, tilts his chin back to face him as he steals greedy kisses before directing him to watch the mirror again. Augustine wraps his legs around Lysandre's waist, meeting each rock of Lysandre's hips, feeling his pulse race and his breath stolen with each thrust.

His arms wrap around Lysandre's shoulders and draw him close; he shifts his gaze from the mirror to kiss him breathlessly and then turn back to watch, transfixed by the motion of their bodies, their gleaming skin, the closeness. And he can feel himself rapidly becoming overwhelmed by pleasure, can recognise it in the movements of his body, the way his back arches to take him deeper, the way his legs tremble as Lysandre strikes the spot that sets his skin afire over and over again, the way his lips part and eyes fall halfway shut as he gives in to the sensation.

And Lysandre's vivid blue eyes meet his own, silver and bright in the mirror, and he understands, he does, he can finally understand why Lysandre sees him as beautiful, why he's with him.

Because when he's loved this deeply, it shines out from his very skin.

"I love you," Augustine breathes, finally turning his gaze from their reflections. "Oh god, Lysandre, I love you, I -" He cuts himself off with a fierce kiss, draws away to meet Lysandre's gaze properly, feeling stripped bare under the intensity of that blue-eyed stare.

"Do you see now?" Lysandre whispers, "Do you see what I mean?"

Wordlessly, he nods, closing his eyes again as Lysandre kisses him deeply, their rhythm dissolving as they both start reaching the point of no return, feels Lysandre bury his hands in his hair, hears Lysandre whisper frantic declarations of love as he drives into him with increased fervour, and the incoming shockwave of pleasure does not crash like a wave, but instead lights him up from the inside out and blots the world out in a haze of white.

They're warm and sticky, sleepy and sated, Lysandre's comforting weight pressing him against the blanket and his breathing warm against his skin, and it's probably not the best place to sleep but he honestly can't bring himself to care too much. "Thank you," he whispers as soon as he remembers how words work, tilting his head up to steal a much gentler kiss. "I - thank you."

"You're beautiful," Lysandre tells him gently. "I hope you never forget that."

"And if I do?" Augustine manages with a wry smile, utterly disinclined to move, completely content to curl up with Lysandre and feel safe and warm and adored.

Lysandre chuckles, and he closes his eyes, drawing Augustine closer. "Then I'll just have to show you again."

And that, Augustine decides as he feels himself start to drift off, is a lesson he will happily learn over and over again.


End file.
